Shadows of Oblivion
by darken-the-legends
Summary: "Oblivion would be another way of running away. I thought I'd chosen the easier option. Now? I'm not so sure…" What if Annabeth was in Manhattan after running away? What if she met Percy there? And, if she asked him to come with her, would he? Oneshot. Could be seen as Percabeth, I guess.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey :) So, in case you were wondering, this fic is not intended to fit into canon because a: I would be highly surprised if Annabeth went anywhere near where Percy lives when she ran away, although I suppose it is possible, and b: I figure they have remembered each other when they went to Camp.**

 **Also, I may have made them – Percy in particular – a little too childish - seeing as they are meant to be seven… I'm not really sure. Anyway, I hope you like it…**

 **Disclaimer: I really, really don't own any of this.**

"Ever think about oblivion?" the girl asked, out of the blue.

She was about six or seven, with steely grey eyes and cute little blonde curls that framed her face, tied back in a short ponytail.

Her companion, a boy who looked to be around her age, with dark hair and green eyes that could have held all the sadness in the oceans, looked at her with something adorably akin to hero-worship. She was the one who had fought back against her parents and run away. She wasn't staying around much longer, or something would find her, she said. This was the third day. And he was the one who yearned to join her, but stayed, because he loved his mother.

"Yeah," he answered softly. "You?"

She shrugged. "It would be another way of running away. I thought I'd chosen the easier option out of the two. Now? I'm not so sure."

The boy blinked, big eyes staring up at the sky from where he lay sprawled out on the springy ground, in what seemed like one of the last free patches of grass in America.

"I don't think things are that bad, really," he whispered eventually. Above him, the rapidly darkening sky began to turn a curious shade of orange fading all the way into a dusky blue. "My mom's great. It's just my stepdad I hate."

The girl's head twisted to face his, swiping a curl of blonde hair out of her face impatiently. "Why don't you come with me?" she asked. "Run away? I have to leave tonight. You could come too."

The boy bit his lip, eyes turning as dark as the shadows under the trees. The wind was picking up, scattering the leaves and moving his raven hair gently. She watched him, grey eyes questioning, waiting for an answer.

"I just can't leave my mum," he said eventually, face twisted up into a strange grimace. "I get you hated your stepmum, and she sounds like she was horrible, but I don't have that…" his small hand reached down and plucked a handful of grass, idly twisting and tearing at it until all that remained was a green, mangled mess in the sticky palm of his hand.

"That problem," the girl whispered, and her companion nodded with a slightly surprised face, as if he hadn't expected her to finish the sentence.

"It's fine," she gave a brave attempt at a smile. "I understand. I'll be okay."

His eyes were full of concern. "Yeah. I guess… you're the first real friend I've had in ages. We are friends, right?"

She nodded wistfully. "Yeah. Friends. Although I don't suppose I'll ever see you again after tonight."

He blinked, pushing himself up onto his elbow. "No. You know where I live, right? Come find me, okay? Some day. When I have a Maserati and no smelly stepdad and you're a really successful… the thing you said you wanted to be."

She gave a small laugh. "Ar-ki-tect. Architect. Someone who builds things. Things that last."

"If they're good at it," he muttered.

"Well, yeah…" she smiled. "I guess there is that. But I want to make something that will stay up for a long time. Hopefully. And you could come there with me."

"Definitely." he grinned. "I'll drive you. In my Maserati."

"In your Maserati," she agreed, laughing. "When we're both rich and famous."

"Nah…" he shrugged. "I think the Maserati is enough to aspire to."

"I guess." her laughter eventually died, and they lay there on the patched grass, staring at each other and both wishing they lived in happier times.

But they both knew she had to leave. And that they probably wouldn't see each other again, despite their fervent promises and smiles, because their lives were a million miles away from each other and would quite likely never overlap each other again.

"Okay," she murmured after an indefinable amount of time, heralded by the moon rising overhead in a whirl of polluted smoke and wispy clouds that seemed to shield heaven from Earth. "So maybe this was the better option. Running away, I mean."

The boy didn't even blink; he just lay there morosely, staring up at the moon casting silver light across the dark sky.

But, he reminded himself, all that beauty was merely a deceptive screen, a reflection of the sun.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice strangely husky for his age. "I think it was too."

Both of them stood up at the same time, as if they'd rehearsed it, grass stains down their backs and tousled hair, but in the boy's eyes, the girl looked like a goddess.

" 'Bye, Annabeth Chase." the boy said formally, lips parted as he stood shadowed in the lengthening darkness underneath the patchwork, deceitful skies.

She gave him one last forlorn look. "You know, I wish I didn't have to go. But if I don't, they'll find me… I can't fight them off."

"You're not a grown-up," he said, wide-eyed. "And you don't have anything to fight them with."

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face, a small reprieve from the slippery dark mantle of night that clouded her features and stretched partially across her face like grabbing, greedy hands.

" 'Bye, Perseus Jackson." she said, and then turned around, a lone figure with golden hair turned to mud in the blackness.

"You'll come back, won't you?" he called. "Like you promised?"

But there was no response as she was swallowed into the grey and flickering horizon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello :)**

 **A fair warning to all my lovely readers whom I would not want to disappoint:**

 **This second part is not an exact continuation of the first. It is written in a different style, and is far shorter – more of a musing on what might happen next than anything else.**

 **If anyone did want to take up this story seriously, or write anything derivative of it, that would be great… just a thought, as this is likely as far as I am going to get with it.**

 **Rick Is The Owner.**

 **A really awful haiku.**

 **Apollo is proud.**

Percy Jackson is lying, half-dead, on a doorstep when he hears her voice again.

"He's the one. He must be."

Which, to his half-dead brain, makes absolutely no sense, and he's just _seen his mom die_ and _fought off a freaking monster_ and can't he just catch a break?

Because if there is one thing he does not need, it is hallucinating about Annabeth Chase's voice as he dies slowly… no way. It's not her. _It isn't her,_ he thinks helplessly, too immobile to do anything else – he tries to raise his head a little, to see where she should be, but it feels like it is straining to float away while attached to a lead weight, and it _hurts, it hurts, where is his mom?_

"Silence, Annabeth. Bring him…"

Definitely hallucinating.

* * *

But his illness must last for a long time, because he sees her again – stroking back his hair, or on another occasion – was it another occasion?- asking him about some summer solstice, which doesn't make any sense to his fevered brain because they definitely met in spring, not summer, so why is she talking about summer?

Then, when he finally wakes up for real, it's to Grover offering him a drink. Awkward, loyal Grover – his best friend – yet he's about the last person Percy wants to see right now.

Everyone is, except Annabeth.

"Hey, Percy," Grover says. He's using his nervous voice. Now Percy knows that he's a – well, a _satyr,_ then, it sounds more like a bleat than ever.

"Um, you should drink this," he continues in a rush. "It helps you heal."

"Me, specifically?" Percy croaks out, natural curiosity taking over. He takes a sip – it tastes amazing, like his mom's homemade blue chocolate chip cookies melting all over his tongue.

Grover shifts. "Uh, no. People like you. Well- you should really let someone else-"

"He means demigods."

Her voice is clear, not melodic, or pretty, even, but strong and regal. It's like taking another sip of the drink, whatever it was – it reinvigorates him, makes him want to sit up, makes him want to live. Even without his mom.

He looks at her, and something just falls into place.

Honey blonde hair falls over her shoulders, just as he remembers it, tied impatiently into a messy ponytail with half of it falling out like it doesn't want to be tamed. Her face is streaked with dirt, and her steel grey eyes shine with the resilience she possessed even when they met all those years ago.

'Demigods?" he asks faintly, more because he wants to repeat her words to check she said them, than because he's registered the implications they hold.

"You're… Annabeth Chase."

"Yeah," she says, lips twitching into a smile. "And you're Percy Jackson."

They haven't come full circle, not just yet.

But they've definitely started.

* * *

"Percy, slow down!" Annabeth Chase, owner of a newly acquired degree in architecture, shrieks. Not shrieks. Annabeth Chase does not shriek.

Not usually, anyway.

Percy just laughs and hits the accelerator. The car – a Maserati GranCabrio – flies effortlessly across the highway at what is, to Annabeth, an increasingly alarming rate.

" _Perrrrrrcyyyyy!"_ she screams. A few more heart stopping seconds, then he slams his foot on the brake and swerves so sharply into a service station that she's fairly sure she left her breath back on the road.

She's hyperventilating, eyes tightly closed as she forces her heartbeat down.

He's still laughing – he's _laughing._

"Perseus Jackson," she grits out, "I swear I will get you for this."

He continues smirking.

"Ever think about oblivion? Because that's where you are heading if you don't _apologise."_

"Of course, Wise Girl," he says airily. "I mean, less so now we're not under immediate death threats every few seconds."

"No," she says, mellowing a little. "Only every ten _."_

"Well, now we're grown-ups," he says. "And at least we have something to fight the monsters off _with."_

 **And it's the end.**

 **Technically, this is the second non-oneshot I've ever completed.**

 **Ah, yes… thought we might hit that snag soon. Yes, I am sorry. Yes, I am a terrible fanfictor. No, you do not want excuses.**

 **It would be great if you could check out my renaming poll on my profile – otherwise, review!**

 **(soon not to be) ~thaliatheawesome**

 **PS: BlueCookiesforRick - there is your happy story.**


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